Page 158 of A Sin So Pure

“Much better!” Her entourage of fae laugh as if she told the best joke of the century; she shushes them and the room quiets. “Now, it’s been fifty long years of celebration without the Unseelie. But I amsohappy that our sister Court from across the river has found it in their hearts to embrace tradition again.”

She pauses, and a beat passes before the Seelie get the hint and clap. Her smile is taut, not reaching her eyes, when she continues.

“Now, Silas, if you’ll have a few words,” she drawls, waving Silas forward.

He raises a drink-clad hand.

“Happy Solstice,” he says. Then throws back the entirety of his drink.

The queen’s lips curl over her teeth in what I would describe as more of a grimace than a smile as Silas stalks off the platform.

“Dinner will be served shortly!” She laughs nervously and snaps her fingers at the band. They start an upbeat tune, and she steps off the stage, swallowed by the throngs of Seelie on the dance floor.

All of them have their wings out; the fae-light filled room glitters with every flutter of their wings. Some are opalescent, like dragonflies, and others are more akin to butterflies and moths, with opaque patterns that mimic monarchs and swallowtails.

“That was… interesting,” Josie says tentatively.

“Fucking awkward is what it is,” I say, watching Silas stalk our way.

“It is the fiftieth anniversary of his parents’ deaths. Maybe he isn’t feeling chatty today?” Imogen offers.

“The man loves to hear himself talk,” I say. “No. He’s just being smart.”

“Well,smartis headed right for us,” Leo says over the rim of his glass.

Silas stops before our group, and the five of us stare at each other, unblinking.

“Happy Solstice?” Leo asks, breaking the silence.

Silas ignores Leo and raises a quizzical brow at me.

“Can we chat?” he asks.

“Sure.” I give Imogen’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. I lean into Imogen’s ear. “Don’t leave Josie’s side, please.”

She reads the seriousness in my tone and nods, pulling Josie and Leo away to go find some hors d’oeuvres.

I turn to Silas, finding his gaze locked on Imogen; there’s a sadness that lingers there, but it’s quickly shaken away as his kingly mask falls back into place.

“You’re wearing your gloves,” he says.

I tug at one, pulling it further up my arm, the silky shadow fibers slipping between my fingers.

“They are vital to our plan, no?”

“Yes, but it shocks me every time you listen to directions without putting up a fight.”

“Funny,” I deadpan.

He turns and we’re shoulder to shoulder; the coarse fabric of his suit scratches the bare stretch of my upper arm. We watch the rest of the room like two hawks, ready to swoop down for our prey.

“Wrath is on standby in case anything goes sideways. He’ll pull people out as fast as he can.” Silas sips his drink. “I would have us develop some kind of signal, but a good shout will work just the same.”

“Good to know.”

I know Josie is watching Imogen, but it’s an extra comfort knowing that Silas has an evacuation plan.

“What are the odds everything goes as planned?” I ask.

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